So I thought I’d try a short story… I got the idea from an author called Brandon Sanderson, who suggested trying to write using only dialogue. He linked to an amazing story called Meat which is currently one of my favourite things… And so this is my attempt. Since I can’t think of a proper title, it’s currently called I Hate Yellow.

“I hate the colour yellow.”

“Morning to you too. You’re sounding sunshine happy today!”

“Really, though. Yellow. Urgh.”

“And buttercup articulate. I hope this is just tiredness from the Long Trip, or you’re not going to have much fun around here any more.”

“It is because of the Long Trip, but it’s not tiredness. You can’t realise what your world is like until you leave it, Gracey. And now I look at our world, and – how did I stand it before?”

“Wow, that coffee must have worked fast. From grunts to podium speeches in under ten seconds!”

“Very funny. But Gracey, you really should try the Long Trip too. It is unbelievable!”

“And from misery to enthusiasm in under twenty! This coffee really is something special. I should start charging you for it.”

“Your jokes might just send me back under again, you know. It’s too early for jokes.”

“Too early for jokes? What happened to Mr two-puns-a-sentence? You’re normally cracking those out before you’ve even opened your eyes!”

“Puns are in a special category of their own. The rules of jokes don’t apply to them.”

“I’m only letting that one pass because I’m still happy you’re back. Don’t worry though, I’ll be back to my usual self by tomorrow.”

“I’d best get as much complaining done as possible today, then. Yellow!”

“So what’s wrong with it?”

“Everything! Why is everything here yellow?”

“That’s just how it is. Eat your toast.”

“With butter. Urgh.”

“Oops, coffee wearing off already? I’ll pour you another cup. Just today, mind.”

“That’s not how it is over in Brown! Their buildings are grey, brown, white, their fields are brown and green… Even their lakes are blue. Blue! You can’t imagine! It’s worth the journey, Gracey, I promise you. You need to see it.”

“That sounds stupid. Doesn’t it all clash? It would hurt your eyes after a bit, seeing so many different colours everywhere.”

“I have to admit, it was all a bit confusing at first.”

“I like the way we have it here. All of the yellows match.”

“Urgh. Do you know, they had part of the welcome-back-farce yesterday down by the lakes and it was so depressing. Butter lake, saffron fields, yellow houses. Vanilla food. I wish other colours stuck.”

“There was another attempt while you were gone, you know. A couple of researchers over by the fords synthesised some kind of deep-fish venom – or maybe it was deepwater plants, I don’t remember – anyway, they painted a wall of their lab some awful shade of green.”

“Sounds impressive though, doesn’t it? Maybe next time I’ll try a polarisation, or a subatomic. They always go down well in the office.”

“That’s because you work with beiged gullible fools. No, no, don’t start, they’re all lovely – don’t you dare tell Harry I said any of this – but you have to admit, they believe everything they hear. And they all think the researchers are just chanting magic spells when they try and explain their work.”

“Well, it’s a good job for me I have a researcher of my own to keep me from being another gullible fool. That’s the only reason I have you around, you know.”

“Oh, I know. Is there any more toast?”

“Sure – only today, mind you. Do you want honey or marmalade?”

“Urgh. I want raspberry jam.”

“Now who’s making up words!”

“Sorry, Gracey. I’m going to be insufferable for a while. Jam is something I tried over in Brown. It’s red, and they eat it with proper brown toast!”

“Sounds disgusting. You wouldn’t be able to tell if there was dirt on it.”

“Their coffee was brown too, you know.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous. I know they must have new foods over there, but coffee is not brown. That would be like drinking mud.”

“This is why you need to go yourself, Gracey! You won’t believe it until you see it.”

“Oh yes, you’re making it all sound so tempting. Half a year of travelling, danger of death and unknown diseases – one in a hundred chance you won’t make it back at all, I’ve seen the statistics – and all to come back and not be satisfied with your own place any more. You’ll be trying to dye my hair next.”

“I wouldn’t dare. Has anyone tried since those guys burned theirs off trying to go from amber to apricot?”

“A couple of people. They had dark hair, of course; one girl was almost olive. It looked perfectly fine, of course, but no, nowadays beautiful hair has to be as close to cream as possible. But there are only so many shades lighter you can get with lemon juice…”

“Ahh, this is what I’ve missed, Gracey.”

“The inane gossip? Or the burned scalps?”

“Both. Not talking to you, of course.”

“Of course. Another piece of toast?”

“I’ll have to take it with me. I’ve got a meeting with the commissioner this morning, he wants all the latest Brown updates. Not that he’ll have any idea what I’m talking about, of course, he had enough trouble imagining green fields.”

“Is this the guy who denounced the first reports as hallucinations, and tried to call the first rock samples brought back fabrications?”

“No, he was given early retirement. Can’t imagine why. The current commissioner is very enthusiastic about it all. He’s just not got much more than enthusiasm to contribute.”

“Well even if your puns haven’t surfaced yet, at least you still have a healthy dose of cynicism. Glad to see the Long Trip hasn’t changed you completely.”

“As if it could. I can feel myself reverting back to my mustard norm as we speak. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yes, I don’t have to work late this afternoon. Good luck with the commissioner! Be golden!”

I’ve not tried angry poems before, not really sure if they’re for me or not… But I started this one as another from one of the NaPoWriMo prompts back in April, taking the title from an Iain M Banks spaceship. It was kind of an interesting way to start a poem, since it turned into one pretty different to how I usually write.

This actually first came from one of the poems I wrote for NaPoWriMo – Numbered. I thought I’d try writing in the opposite direction from that, but it turns out I found inwards more difficult than outwards… Hence why I’ve now only got through this more than a little while after I wrote that!

This has gone through more revisions than I usually have patience for… Which might be because I actually began with a definite idea about what I wanted to write about. I may yet come back to change the third stanza!

I really do like the main idea of imagism, of a short poem organised around one image, so I’m going to keep on trying them! (Although I’m happily ignoring all the other aims the imagists proposed for poetry.)